


How Not to Date Your Lover

by Dlvvanzor, Living_In_a_Fantasy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, PWP, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dlvvanzor/pseuds/Dlvvanzor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Living_In_a_Fantasy/pseuds/Living_In_a_Fantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to gain information on a serial killer, Sherlock devises a plan in which he and John will go undercover and attempt to seduce the man’s mistresses. He thought the hardest part of the plan would be getting John to agree to do it. He didn’t think it was going to be keeping his hands off his lover long enough for the plan to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Not to Date Your Lover

**Author's Note:**

> When we were planning this, it was a humorous casefic with maybe a bit of crack. Somehow it became PWP. Not sure how that happened but oh well. XD

          "John," Sherlock said grimly, "You are not going to like what is required for this case."

           John looked over at him where he sat at the desk, lowering his newspaper to do so, frowning slightly.  "Why? What is it?"

            "We, um," the detective said uncomfortably, unwilling to look away from John, "have to pretend to not be a couple."

           John shifted on the sofa, turning to face Sherlock more fully. "We have to... what now?"

           "We have to pretend," Sherlock repeated, standing to come closer but not daring to sit down next to John, yet, "to not be a couple in order to, the both of us, seduce two different women."

           There was a long pause. "Why, exactly, do we have to do this?"

           "They are the lovers of a serial killer and we must get them to reveal his location."

           He nodded slowly. "Right."

           Sherlock nodded too, relieved that he was not yet on the receiving end of the infamous Watsonian temper.  "Yes.  So."  He shifted from foot to foot.

           "What is it we have to do, exactly?" John asked.  It was always better to clarify these things with Sherlock Holmes.  "Are we... how far is this going to go?"

           "We won't have to do anything too unsavory," Sherlock assured him hurriedly.  "But I can't promise there will be no physical contact."

           John frowned. He'd never really considered himself possessive before, but he couldn't see many people liking the prospect of their partner being pawed at by someone else. "I am not happy about this," he said, though he doubted that really made a difference.

           To his credit, Sherlock fidgeted.  "I am open to alternative suggestions."

            John sighed in resignation.  "What else do we have to do?"

           "Well," Sherlock said, cringing, "We will have to switch names while we're out."

           "We _what_?"

           "We will have to call each other by our own names, Sherlock."

           "Just...you...this is ridiculous," John said when he finally managed words. "Why would we ever need to do that?"

           "To throw them off," Sherlock explained seriously.  "We will sound unsure when we speak, having to hesitate each time to make sure we say the correct name.  It will make it seem like we don't know each other well."

           "Wait, we're seducing them while in the same room as each other?" John had thought they'd be going for different girls in different places. It was going to be much harder actually watching Sherlock seduce someone else.          

           "Yes, obviously."

           "Oh yes, obviously," John agreed sarcastically.

           Finally, Sherlock guessed it was safe to sit down.  "John," he said, his voice dropping low, taking on a distinctly predatory edge.  "If I am going to have to share you, even superficially, I _insist_ upon being there to see it."

            "It was your decision to share me," John reminded him.

           Sherlock huffed.  That voice usually worked.  "Yes, fine.  We go out tonight."

           "Great," John said, opening his newspaper sharply.

           Sherlock sighed and moved until he was pressed in against John, nosing into his hair.  "John."

           "What?" he asked. Involuntarily, though, the tension that had begun to build in his shoulders relaxed.     

           "I love you," Sherlock told him.  "And I don't like to share.  The only reason I am willing to do this is because I know we're fine, we're _perfect_ , John."

           John sighed, letting the paper settle against his lap. "I know. I don't like sharing you either, you know."

           "Right."  He pressed a sweet kiss to John's hair.  "We aren't going to enjoy this— especially since I’d rather swim naked in the Thames in January than be with a woman— so there's nothing to worry about.  And," he added, "the only other way we could work this is extremely dangerous."

           "Not worried, just don't like it." He leaned against Sherlock, since soon enough he wouldn't be able to. "And I'm not nearly as good an actor as you are."

           "Not true," a small smirk appeared on Sherlock's lips.  "I've seen you flirt with women.  You lie all the time."

           "Well then it's not like I'm _trying_."  He shrugged slightly.

           Sherlock stooped around and gave John a quick peck on the lips.  "I believe in you.  Now, come.  I have to find something heterosexual in my wardrobe and I will probably require assistance."

           John rolled his eyes but stood.  Despite all of the strange things they had done for cases, he had a feeling this would be one of the strangest.

 

 

           The pub was very loud and Sherlock, in his purple shirt (they had given up on the heterosexual clothing idea) was already incredibly unhappy.  It was unbearably loud, between the music and the drunken yelling of the patrons, and Sherlock did not understand how John could frequent such establishments without losing his mind.  They had been dating for six years.  While they weren't the most painfully demonstrative couple, Sherlock was accustomed by now to taking John's hand when he was uncomfortable, and in this situation it was a bit of a vicious cycle.

           John was also incredibly unhappy, and it was primarily because they had settled on the purple shirt.  He _loved_ that shirt, and now some woman was going to be running her hands all over it, if all went according to plan.  He glared at the floor.  Sherlock really, _really_ wore that shirt well, dammit.

           Sherlock glanced at John, very quickly.  He shouldn't be allowed to wear that striped, long-sleeved top in public.  It was bordering on the obscene, really, and he had to force himself to look away again.

           It was a very unhappy time.

           As soon as this was all over, John though, he was going to (carefully, so not to damage the thing) rip that shirt off Sherlock and take him over the nearest horizontal surface. And then things would be good.  

           Sherlock could read John's mind, especially when he was exuding this level of horniness, and it really did sound quite nice.  Until then, though, he sighed and cast his eyes around for the ladies, finally spotting them.  He nudged John and gestured subtly with his head.  He put a few extra inches between them, feeling very far away from John, and led them towards the girls.  It worked out: one had her eyes on Sherlock, and one could apparently not peel hers from John.

           Based on that reaction, John could only hope this whole thing would end up being easy and they could get this over with quickly. John smiled at his girl, trying to force thoughts of Sherlock to the back of his head.

           With the detachment characteristic of a clinician, Sherlock looked over their targets.  To say they were wearing very little would be to do a disservice to little clothing.  Sherlock internally cringed as he moved in closer to the girl he was in charge of— Laura was her name, she informed him with a giggle— to use his eyes on her.  Ug.  Women.  So much... flesh, and curves, and scents, and so much _hair_ and why did they _sit_ like that...  When Laura leaned in and batted her eyelashes, Sherlock remembered with a vengeance why women were not his area.  This did not mean, however, that he wasn't an amazing actor, and he gave her a big smile and a purr with his deadliest of voices, and she giggled more.

           John, on the other hand, tried to focus on the fact that she was attractive. If he'd seen this girl at a pub before Sherlock, he might have struck up a conversation. This was no different. He was so focused on staying focused that he almost answered with his own name when she asked for it.  Hearing Sherlock use his Voice, though, was enough to distract John from his own girl (was it Emma or Emily? He couldn't remember now) for a few seconds before forcing his attention back on her. She was leaning forward, hair curled slightly between her fingers. He reminded himself again that he used to like this and tried to be half as charming as Sherlock was.

           Sherlock could hear John flirting and it was making him crazy. (Internally only, thanks.)  It might have been tolerable, but he was _good_ at it and Sherlock was now absolutely, 100% certain that if John had flirted like this with him in the beginning it wouldn't have taken them a year and a half to get together.  Even getting it peripherally was making him light-headed.  He turned his body away so that he couldn't see John as well, focusing on the girl.  He took a lock of her hair and flirtatiously smoothed it behind her ear.

           John felt like an idiot, trying to fool this girl into thinking he was interested. The only sexual tension that was there was because Sherlock was near him, in that damn shirt, flirting with some other girl.  He'd not had any success steering the conversation in the direction they needed, and if things continued at this pace she might invite him back to her place. The idea would have thrilled him years ago but now it just created problems.  What was he supposed to do if that happened?  John forced himself not to look at Sherlock, because he was sure if he did he'd not be able to hide what he felt for him, or how he felt about the situation. Instead he simply watched Emily and smiled.

            No one but John had touched Sherlock like this in nearly a decade and he was struggling against the impulse to run in the opposite direction or leap into John's arms to quiver there.  After only twenty minutes or so, the girls looked at each other, nodded, and then Laura invited them all back to her flat.

           As subtly as possible, Sherlock risked a glance at John.  When John didn't look petrified with fear, he accepted the offer for the both of them, and the girls giggled.  ...What exactly had that invitation implied, exactly?  He looked at John again, hoping for an explanation of relevant social cues.

           John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him, and God, he hoped Sherlock realized what that usually meant.  Sherlock saw his expression and resisted the urge to kick John under the bar.  He _knew_ it was about sex!  Please.  He just wasn't entirely sure of the logistics when it was four people.

           After a bit more talking and a final drink, the girls stood.  In a final act of valiant desperation, Sherlock attempted to move the conversation in the direction of the needed information, but they were stubbornly resisting.  This was against his calculations. 

           He was especially delighted when he discovered that Laura lived near the pub.

           John could tell that this was not going the way Sherlock had planned. Maybe they'd somehow played their parts too well.

           Sherlock gave him a look that said, 'yes, John, we are 40-year-old men who are simply too attractive for our own good, and these 30-year-old women are powerless to resist our charms.'  How he said all that with just a look was a mystery, although it most likely had something to do with the fact that they'd been together so long.

           John sent him a look that stated he did not appreciate his sarcasm, and that it was Sherlock's case so he better figure out what he needed to soon.

           Sherlock told him with his eyes that if he had any better ideas, now was damn well the time to speak up because they were on their way to the flat of a serial killer's mistress and if they made a wrong move they'd become targets.

           John sent him a look asking if they'd been targets from the start.

           Hesitantly, Sherlock flicked his eyes in a way that said that yes, maybe, they might have been.  Possibly.  He simply received one of John's Annoyed looks in response.

           The uncanny communication was all fine and good but they were rapidly getting closer to the flat and the girls had noticed that they'd been staring at each other and having a psychic conversation.  Laura met Emily's eye to have a brief psychic conversation of their own, a smirk on her lips.

           John saw, and wondered if that meant they'd been found out or not. He couldn't tell.  Presently, the cab pulled up at the flat and the girls ushered them to the door. 

           This was going rather poorly.  Drastic measures had to be taken.  With a very-quick apologetic bump of his shoulder against John's, Sherlock grabbed Laura and swung her around to press her into the door, his body into hers, and his lips to her lips, prying them open to skip straight to a snog.  He inquired in a low voice, between kisses, if she had a boyfriend.  Edging the conversation.  Edging the conversation...  Laura giggled and answered that she did have a boyfriend, they both did, they shared in fact, but he didn't mind their dalliances.  Sherlock chuckled low in his throat and went in for more snogging until he was sure he could draw additional information from her.  He just needed to get into the flat...

           John tried to suppress his initial, fairly violent reaction. He managed to get it down to a twitch. He forced his eyes to turn to Emily, who was looking at him expectantly, and leaned in to kiss his own girl.

           Emily, compared to Laura, seemed a lot less interested in any type of verbal communication. John had slept with a fair amount of people, but he'd never been with someone so hands-on, so quickly. He tried to direct his words like Sherlock, but she would just mumble in response and go back to shoving her tongue down his throat. He reminded himself he would have loved this, years ago.

           Now Laura was (finally) telling Sherlock about the boyfriend, the killer, and Sherlock was backing the little group into the flat.  Once they were inside, he abruptly dropped Laura.  "WC," he announced.  He grabbed John unceremoniously by the shirt and dragged him along.  Once they were out of earshot, he locked them into the bathroom together and said at a whisper, "Alright.  This isn't going exactly according to plan, but it's going to work."

            "Sherlock," John said softly. "You do realize that it's really only girls who go to the bathroom together? And even then it's usually not inside a flat."

           "Shut up."  He yanked John into him, aiming roughly for a familiar mouth.

 _God_ , that was better. Instantly, John smashed up into the kiss, more teeth and tongue than lips, arms clamping around Sherlock to pull their bodies closer until there was little space between them.   He was reluctant to pull away and forcibly reminded himself where they were. He pulled back, just enough to speak, breath heavy, arms still tight around Sherlock. "Change in plan?"

           "Yes," Sherlock managed, chest heaving.  "Change... change in plan."

            John really just wanted to pull Sherlock back in and kiss him again. To forget about the case and the girls they were trying to get information from. "Care to share?" he asked instead, trying to ignore Sherlock's heavy breaths and the familiar feeling of their bodies pressed together.

            "Right."  Sherlock put a bit more space between them so they could speak and he could _think_ without the distracting scent of John.  "Originally I was going to sneak into the bedroom, but the way this is going all four of us will be in there and my ends will be impossible.  I need to measure several features of the room, in relation to the body sizes of the women.  So we will have to get creative."  He took a deep breath, clearing his mind further.  "If I am interpreting the earlier smirk correctly, our companions are amused by the idea of making us snog.  They'll try to entice us into various activities with each other for their enjoyment.  We will resist initially but accept in the end, then 'get carried away' and go to the bedroom.  You will..." Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and sighed.  "You will have a wank, loudly, as I measure the areas I need.  Then we'll come back out and I'll have to measure Emily.  I've already done so with Laura."

           John just stared at him for several moments before speaking. "You want me to...when you just wander around measuring things?"

           Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him.

           "Of course you do," he grumbled.

           Sherlock grimaced and then shoved John ahead of him, flushing and then following him to the main room.  When they arrived, Laura and Emily were making out on the sofa for reasons Sherlock didn't entirely understand.  They didn't seem to be enjoying it.  When Sherlock and John reappeared, Laura smirked like she was a genius and suggested that they— John and Sherlock— do similarly.

           John did his best to send an uncomfortable look at Sherlock. "I don't think..." he said in the direction of the two girls.

           Sherlock recalled kissing Laura and the disgusted face didn't have to be faked.  He would definitely be deleting that, later.  "Certainly not..."

           In frankly impressive unison, the girls whined at them to do it, it wasn't a big deal.  John refused several more times before casting an unsure look at Sherlock and saying "I don't know."

           Sherlock looked back at him, then back at the girls.  "And if we do?"  They informed him that they could then have anything they like, if they put on a sufficient show.  Sherlock raised his eyebrows and looked back at John.  "Worth it, mate?"

           John met his eyes, looked back at the girls, then back at him.  Slowly, he nodded.

           Trying to pretend it wasn't the most natural thing in the world for him, trying to pretend it wasn't exactly where he belonged, Sherlock edged closer to John and, arms stiffly at his sides, leaned down to kiss him, impressed with how tense John managed to remain.  The girls booed and, 'accordingly,' Sherlock put his hands 'awkwardly' on John's hips, loosening up just a little.  John forced his hands to not pull Sherlock against him, not quite yet, and instead let one rest on Sherlock's arm.  The girls made approving noises and some encouraging ones, so Sherlock pulled John a little closer, pressing a bit harder, and then it all became very natural and he let it.

           John was finally able to get lost in Sherlock.  He pulled the other man closer and kissed him deeply, a real kiss like he'd been craving.  His hand on Sherlock's back kept him close.  The girls were really cheering, now, but Sherlock largely ignored them.  Instead, he made a show of pressing his lower body into John's and groaning, tugging him in the direction of the bedroom.

           John followed blindly and had to remind himself they were still on a case, which was rather hard with Sherlock's hands being everywhere and his lips and that groan, God. 

           Sherlock ignored the amused protests of the girls as he locked the door behind them.  He pressed two frantic kisses to John's lips and then used all his self-control to pull away from him.  John, however, stepped forward instantly and pressed another long kiss to Sherlock's lips before he could get away.

           " _John_ ," Sherlock groaned, sounding like he was dying.  "We have to..."

           "I know." He kissed him again and reluctantly pulled away, taking a single step back.

           Sherlock shuddered, full-body and totally beyond his control.  "Right.  Yes.  Okay."  He gestured at John to get on with it and staggered towards the bed to measure the area under it.

           As he unzipped his trousers John registered, faintly, that a few years ago he would have been appalled to do this. Now, as he gripped his cock, all he registered was the taste of Sherlock, still on his lips. His eyes followed Sherlock as the other man bent over. His hand moved with long strokes, his gaze never shifting. He wanted to peel that shirt off his body and have him now, damn the case. His eyes focused in on Sherlock’s long, pale fingers as he worked, and it was easy, familiar, to imagine those fingers wrapped around him instead.

           Sherlock was aware that John was watching him, which made _not going over there and tearing him apart_ the most difficult thing he'd ever done.  "John," he said, voice faint, "you have to, um, make enough noise for them to hear."

           John stroked faster, eyes never leaving Sherlock. He wanted those lips, and those hands, and the idea of the things they could be doing now, instead of this case, made his hips jerk along with his hand movements. His breathing had grown heavy, and it really wasn’t going to take too long. He’d wanted Sherlock all night. “God, Sherlock,” he moaned, voice ringing loudly across the room.

           "As far as they're concerned, you just moaned your own name," Sherlock choked in a giggle, lurching to the last location he had to measure.  "Just a little longer, only have to do the closet... _fuck_ , John, do you have to look at me like that?"

           “Yes,” he gasped, hand moving faster. “I’d forgot about that,” he said hazily, because God, he was _close_ and he didn’t care about those girls listening on the other side of the door. He just wanted Sherlock to finish and get back over to _him_ instead. “Bit distracted,” he managed.

           "Yes, obviously."  It was meant to be scathing, but under the circumstances it was more like a plea.  "There!  Done.  All done.  Done."

           "Then come over here and kiss me again," he groaned.

           Sherlock nearly tripped, complying, but once he had righted himself he was in front of John, fingers buried in his hair, biting down on John's lower lip and bringing it into his mouth the way he liked.

           John’s breaths were coming out as strangled gasps now, and he jerked closer, overwhelmed with the feeling of _Sherlock_ and it only took a few more strokes before his breath caught, the world narrowing as a wave of pleasure rode through him. Sherlock’s name ripped from his lips, his hand staggering to a stop as he slumped over against Sherlock’s chest.

           Dazed by the show, Sherlock couldn't immediately react.  He was harder than he could ever remember being before, but they hadn't time to do what he wanted.  While he waited for John to recover enough to stand, Sherlock scrubbed at his hair, making it a mess, and tried hard to think of Mycroft and other, equally unsexy things.

           "Can you stand, yet?" he asked when he was master of himself.

           "Think so," John said hoarsely. He'd managed to get his breathing under control for the most part, and he forced himself to stand. A bit shaky, but he could manage.

           "Good.  Now, while you still look entirely undone..."  Sherlock tugged him to his feet and pushed him gently (gently enough, at least) out the door, pointedly licking his lips and wiping his mouth.  Sherlock was very, very done with this case, and accordingly he simply strode up to Emily and wrapped his arms around her, measuring her.  When he had the figure, he nodded and then coughed.  "Right.  Well, I learned something about myself tonight.  So I hope you won't be horribly offended if I take him home now...?"

           John was relieved because the girls both looked a little put out, but very amused at the same time. That was probably a good sign that they could get away.  They whined about whether or not Sherlock was sure, and Sherlock confirmed that he was _deeply_ sure, and they mumbled something about 'that explains the shirt,' which Sherlock ignored.

           As they hurried out the door, Sherlock said, "I am 99% sure that no serial killer is now going to target us as a result of this evening, and also that I now have enough information to capture him."

           "So that's done then?" John asked, glad to be out of the flat and away from those girls.

           Sherlock nodded vehemently, already hailing a cab.

           "Thank God," John said, climbing in as a cab nearly instantly stopped for them.  John's eyes didn't stray from Sherlock's for a moment, and he pitched his voice low, as they sat, so the cabbie couldn't hear. "Because I'm not sure how much longer I could have waited around there. As soon as we're done with all this and home, I expect you to follow through with those girl's expectations."

           Sherlock stretched out in his seat, giving John an obscene view of his favorite part of Sherlock, his neck.  "Oh, John, I'll do better than that," he said.  His voice was low and soft as silk.  "Those girls don't have nearly my imagination.  Or my intimate understanding of what _exactly_ it is you like."  He chuckled, deeply.  "They don't know, for instance, how you prefer me spread under you, damp from your sweat, trembling, _begging_ , mad with desire, your name the only word in my mind, a prayer."  He met John's eyes and didn't avert his gaze.  "They don't know what I'll be doing to you tonight, either.  How, sometimes, _you'd_ rather be the one splitting open, out of your mind.  The one being made to beg."

           John's eyes didn't move from Sherlock's, his breath catching somewhere in his throat. The words, with that voice, with everything they'd done in that bedroom was nearly too much. "You sure we can't put off the conclusion of this case for just a bit longer?" he managed finally. A small part of him that he didn't acknowledge was yelling at him that saying that was a bit not good. He didn't care.

           Sherlock raised one elegant eyebrow, uncomprehending.

           John's voice rose slightly in exasperation. "Can we go home and do that first and _then_ catch the serial killer?"

           Sherlock gave him a look that very clearly informed John that Sherlock thought he was mad.  "As if I am capable of staying... _out_ of you... for any longer than this cab ride?  John, we may not even make it to 221B."

           John simply smirked in response. "Excellent."

 

 

 

           They did, in fact, make it to 221B, but they failed to make it any further than the front door before Sherlock seized John and threw him into it, closing in on him like he was the last molecule of gaseous oxygen on Earth.  John's arms instantly wrapped around Sherlock, pulling him in so they were pressed together. The kiss was frantic, and John tilted his head up, his hand curled against Sherlock's neck.  Sherlock groaned when John's fingernails dug in.

           "You-" Sherlock said between biting kisses, "-are never-"  Another bite, harder.  "-laying a hand on anyone but me-"  His hands moved to John's hair, possessive.  "-ever again.  And that includes yourself."  His fingers tightened there to the point of pain and a bit past it.

           "Was your idea," John said breathlessly, pulling back just long enough to speak the words. "Always yours."

           Sherlock practically purred at that.  "Again."

           John pulled back far enough so he could meet Sherlock's eyes, voice low. " _Always_ yours."

           The sound the detective made in response to that conveyed his approval very clearly.  With the air of someone bestowing a great reward, he lowered his lips to John's neck, the most sensitive spot of it, right over the carotid artery, and ran his tongue lightly over the skin, chuckling low in his throat when John groaned and tipped his head back, smacking it into the door.

           "God, Sherlock," he moaned. "You... you know how sensitive that is it's not-" he broke off with a small gasp, and it took him a moment to finish his train of thought. "Not very fair," he managed. "Don't stop," he added hastily, on the off chance Sherlock had planned to listen to him.  "God, don't stop."

           "Never," Sherlock swore on an exhale.

           John's hands slid to settle against Sherlock's hips, fingers tightening slightly.  Sherlock's head dropped for a moment as John pulled their bodies closer, allowing each to feel the other's arousal, but he quickly latched onto John's neck again, teeth this time.

            John's fingers moved blindly towards the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. "In the way," he said.  Sherlock allowed him to fumble for less than three seconds before pushing his hands away and doing it himself, tossing purple unceremoniously to the side before clever fingers moved in to remove stripes.

           John pulled Sherlock back towards him the moment the fabric fell to the floor. He got lost in the sensation of skin on skin; had been waiting for it all night. His hands moved across Sherlock's back, feeling, and though there was little space between them as it was, he wasn't close enough.

           "Never close enough," Sherlock answered the unspoken thought, wrapping his arms around John to feel more of him.  He pressed their bodies together, hard, trying unsuccessfully to merge them into one person.  "Nothing will ever make it close enough," he breathed, curling around to sink his teeth into John's good shoulder.

           John let out a small moan in response, grinding his hips against Sherlock's. "Bedroom."

           Instead of wasting time and breath on a response, Sherlock dragged John by the band of his trousers to their shared room, the one that had previously been his.  He dropped to his knees, still pressed close to John, hands going to the zipper and tugging it down with more difficulty than was expected from a genius.  He pulled the jeans down after that, allowing John to step out of them, then dug his fingernails into John's thighs and his nose into John's pants, exhaling hot breath into the fabric.

           John's hips jerked, his hand tangling in Sherlock's hair, not pushing, just holding.

           With a dark chuckle, Sherlock mouthed over John's cock, through the fabric, then gracefully got back up to his feet.  He looked at his trousers and then at John, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

           "Tease," John said, one hand catching the back of Sherlock's neck and pulling him down for another kiss. The other hand worked at Sherlock's trousers, sloppily tugging them down, eventually using both hands when it was evident one wasn't going to be enough.

           "You wouldn't have it any other way," Sherlock reminded him as he backed them both towards the bed.

           "Course not," he said, moving blindly until his legs met the bed.

           Sherlock's eyes softened.  He gave himself a moment, just a brief one, to take John in the way he was right now: desperate, breath ragged, chest heaving, eyes glazed, mind barely in the room for want of him.  For want of him _the way he was._   He loved this man.

            He drew John to him and wrapped his arms tightly around him, kissing him deeply, tenderly, and softly.  He pressed closer until he could place a knee on the bed, then slowly, maybe reverently, lowered John to the bed, their lips never breaking contact.  "I love you," he murmured.

           "Love you too," John murmured against his lips, pulling Sherlock down until they were pressed together again. His lips traced a path down Sherlock's jaw. "Always."  John's head fell back against the bed as Sherlock pulled back, placing slow, loving kisses along his chest. Sherlock's hands gripped John's pants and pulled them off, and they got lost somewhere at the end of the bed. He slid his way back up, capturing John's lips again.

           John broke the kiss long enough only to rid Sherlock of his own pants, their erections pressing together as he slid back up the bed, gasping at the contact.

           "So," Sherlock said, voice pitched low, "What do you think those girls would have had us do."

           John's fingers traced across Sherlock's back. "I think they would have wanted to see you fuck me until I couldn't think anymore."

           Sherlock nuzzled into the hair at his temple.  He needed a haircut.  "And what would _you_ have me do?"

           “I’d have you fill me up until there was nothing between us, until I forgot everything in the world except for you and until your world narrowed down to only me.” His hands tightened against Sherlock’s skin.  “And I’d have you every single day, for as long as you’d let me.”

           There was nothing Sherlock could possibly say to that.  Instead, he propped himself up on his elbows and placed his fingers delicately on either side of John's face.  He looked at him hard for a long moment, then leaned down and kissed him, putting everything he felt for John into it.  He didn't stop until John made a noise of near-pain and lifted his hips, searching for even a little friction.

           John arched up into him, seeking the movement. He needed more. His hands dug into Sherlock's back, which was lightly damp now with sweat. The friction was too much, but not enough. "Need you," he said breathlessly between kisses.

           Sherlock made a sound like he'd been kneed in the gut but he still had no words so instead of speaking he simply reached for the little bottle on the bedside table.

           John was tight around his fingers, and he moved slowly, stretching the beloved man beneath him. He pressed his lips to John's as he worked a third finger in, nipping tenderly at his bottom lip.

           John's voice was barely his own.  "Now.  Please."

           More obedient than anyone but John knew he was capable of being, Sherlock removed his fingers.  He efficiently slicked himself up from the little bottle and lined himself up at John's entrance.  He pressed in slowly, eyes locked with John's, giving him time to adjust. John sucked in a breath and his eyes flickered closed for a moment.

           Sherlock nuzzled him sweetly, holding still.

           "Move," John said after a beat, shifting pointedly.

           The detective shuddered and obliged, shallowly at first until he felt John's muscles relax and until John started to pant and meet his thrusts.  Sherlock began to pick up speed, and when he brushed a particular cluster of nerves the other man cried out, arching off the bed. "God, Sherlock." The words tore from his throat as his hands clenched into the sheets beneath him.

           " _Fuck_ , John," Sherlock growled, increasing his speed even more.  He could feel coherence leaving him, hear his mind shutting down in the glorious way it only ever did when he was with John _this_ way.  "You're... I..."

           "Sherlock... please.  Just..."  He couldn't even keep track of what he was trying to say. He just needed Sherlock to go faster, deeper, because God, he was so close. He rose to meet Sherlock's thrusts as best he could.

           "Yes, John," he said, breathless and this time definitely reverent.  He maxed out— as hard as he could, and as fast, because he could feel how close John was and he wanted to get him there more than anything.  "I want you to... I want..."

            "Sherlock... fuck, can you...?" The words were broken and nearly pleading.

            Sherlock nodded and took hold of John's prick, pumping sloppily in time with his thrusts.

            John groaned, and all he could do was chant Sherlock's name breathlessly. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, right... _there, oh God..._ "  His words faded off abruptly as he was finally overcome with the heat and the movement, his mind going blank.  Sherlock felt John tighten around him and he was only moments behind, burying his face in John's sweat-damp neck as he rode out his orgasm, gasping.

            When it was over, Sherlock allowed himself to drop down carefully onto John, half on and half off so as not to crush him.  Instantly, he curled himself up around John and pulled him close.  John shifted into the embrace, breathing slowly returning to something more normal.

            Nose in John's hair, Sherlock murmured, "Never doing that again."

           "Hope you mean the seduction of other people part."

            Sherlock snorted out a little laugh.  "Obviously not.  Obviously I mean we will never have incredible sex again.  I categorically forbid it."

            "That's unfortunate," John mumbled, pressing closer. "I enjoyed it."

            "Me, too," Sherlock said seriously.  "It _is_ unfortunate, isn't it?"

            John pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's shoulder. "Sure you won't reconsider?"

            "I'm afraid not.  It's for an experiment.  Very important," Sherlock said with a contented sigh.

            John mock-frowned. "You could put it off."

            Thoughtfully, Sherlock replied, "That might be possible.  Alternatively, I could conduct the _opposite_ experiment."

            "Which would be?"

            "Incredible sex at least once a day."

            John smiled. "Seems much better than the alternative."

            "I think we've already conducted this experiment, though."  Sherlock smiled back at the man in his arms.

            "The more data, the more accurate the result will be," John reminded him.

            Sherlock pulled John the rest of the way into him and placed his chin on top of John's head.  "I love you," he said simply.

            John settled comfortably against Sherlock. "Love you, too."


End file.
